


A Letter To Myself

by Varon



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1668914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varon/pseuds/Varon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a contest on RPG-D, Hannibal is forced to write a letter to himself by his psychiatrist while he is in prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Letter To Myself

_A letter to myself, as though the application of cognitive awareness will provide comprehension of my crimes and lead to a display of remorse. It would appear that those who are making their floundering attempts to rehabilitate me do not fully understand the concept of a disciplined mind. I am of the opinion that they are desperately clutching to the illusion of instability in favor of facing the idea that my every action was methodically planned to the minutest detail. Even this imprisonment – though mildly inconvenient in its timing – serves a purpose for me. It is easier for them to craft a portrait of deception than it is to face the starkness of reality in this circumstance. The stringent morals of society make certain details difficult to swallow. More’s the pity._  
  
Will Graham had succumbed to a fever that was most displeasing. The varying effects on his mind and physiology as a result of his encephalitis had been scintillating enough to unravel and examine thus far, though this latest development placed an unfortunate damper on particular plans. It was with some debate that Hannibal chose to make the effort of presenting Will with a gesture of solidarity and friendship, if only because he was aware that he had begun forming a true investment in the other man that bordered upon the potentially problematic.   
  
It had been long enough since the inclination to care about something had dawned upon Hannibal that in truth, it was easy to overlook in favor of satisfying his curiosity. Seeing how Will would respond to the token was as much an incentive as the idea of friendly novelties themselves were. Being as meticulous as he was with his associates, there was a considerable difference between blurring the line and crossing it. Hannibal was completely aware that he had blurred the lines of patient and companion with Will Graham to an extent almost indiscernible even to himself. It had all been done for a specific purpose. This, however, would deliberately push the line closer to that of friendship than that of professionalism, which of course would afford Hannibal further opportunity to examine the reticent profiler without sparking the man’s distaste for analysis.   
  
There was of course very little which was truly worth the effort of slipping through the crowded streets in search of very particular ingredients. There was a strained air to Hannibal each and every time he personally attended to particulars on his shopping list, as there was a part of him that truly did understand that there was simply no room in which to maneuver without being touched, pushed or prodded. Reminding himself of the fact did very little to make the situation any more bearable or the rudeness of certain people any less apparent. Nevertheless, he was if nothing else dedicated to his decision and deliberately purchased ingredients for other dishes as well, simply to ascertain his mood would not be soured in the making of the one that had forced him out amongst the savages in the first place. Hannibal hated cooking under duress – his mood tended to be reflected in the dish, which simply would not do today.  
  
Preparation was, to Hannibal, the essence of relaxation and purpose. One could not create a truly artistic meal without the proper dedication to the science of preparation. For food was, at its very core, a mixture of both art and science, a display as much as a complicated design. Each piece could only be arranged if those around it had been formed with precise measurements. It took as much time to prepare a full course meal for guests as it did to create a single dish designed for a man’s health and fortitude. From the careful way the black silkie chicken was smoked before its best cuts were placed into the broth in order to absorb flavor, to the exact amount of ginseng utilized in conjunction with Goji berries for medicinal purposes so that flavors would merge rather than clash against one another, the dish was as much science as it was artwork.   
  
Hannibal felt that it was a true testament to how far the line had been blurred and crossed that in the end, he couldn’t even bring himself to consider Will’s response to it all as rude.  
 _  
This writing does give me pause, as recollections swim to mind. The thoughts are of course my own, none of which my simple minded captors have any more ability to comprehend than they do the right to read, so I shall spare myself the effort of penning them down. As with all I do, even this writing serves a purpose for me. I am surprised they have yet to classify me as a narcissist – it was a part of the original profiles Will Graham attempted to produce in the past. Were I of a mind to afford them greater intellect than they truly possess I would presume they had reached the conclusion that my obsessions have led me to my prestige but are not the source of it. As I am not, they are welcome to attempt to discern my meaning from that. I wish them luck._  
  
Jack Crawford’s countenance belied his words and actions. He spoke with a confidence he did not feel and acted dishonorably in the name of the justice he so stubbornly claimed to serve. He was not a natural born leader any more than he was a man who had leadership thrust upon him. He was a man who had worked to stand in his place and, as any man who struggled to gain what they wanted most out of life, was reluctant to let go of it. Admitting he had been wrong about Will Graham’s ability to hold onto himself would undermine his authority and cast doubt on his ability to make judgement calls for his team. He held stubbornly to his beliefs about Will Graham’s sense of self in order to justify his own actions against the man.   
  
Jack Crawford was the sort of man who refused to see what was before his eyes if it did not match with what he most wanted to see. The trouble was, he was also a man with nearly impeccable instinct. He could be persuaded to see things in another’s light if it so happened to be true. When the falsehood was too large, he forced himself past logic, beyond reasonable doubt, and doggedly hounded at the harrowed truth until it cracked and revealed the ugliness he had already sensed. The man had never picked up on Hannibal – not until it was far too late for the truth to be denied – but if anyone would clutch at the idea of Hannibal’s potential innocence, it would be the man who hated to be wrong. Perhaps now was the time to test how far Jack Crawford would chase down a lie.  
  
 _I have never seen reason to regret what I am. There are many things in life which is worthy of question. To spend ones time questioning that which simply is, causes one to be idle and doubtful. I do not waste my time on doubts. I have no more wish to be wasted in life as I do to see myself wasted in death, as so many are. Yet that does bring to me the question of just how I wish to be remembered, and by whom. I had never placed much thought to it before meeting Abigail Hobbs. It was difficult for me to come to terms with the realization that my legacy and memory had the potential to be as thoroughly wasted as her mother was. So, naturally, I have taken pains to ascertain it shall not be so._  
  
Her voice has a deceptively soft quality to it. One that lures your attention simply by sake of pitch. Bedelia is clever, the sort of predator that does not need to hunt. She brings the prey to her, captivating it with the delicate dance of her tongue and drawing it in with a tone that disguised itself as soothing. In truth, the calm of her voice is little more than a design to make you listen, whether your will is in it or not, for curiosity alone of what may pass through her subtly curved lips. She hides her emotions in the same way she hides her intent, a mask upon her face as gentle as the cadence of her words. There is a killer behind her tongue, one that Hannibal seeks but does not wish to destroy. An associate with a mind that could be tailored to friendship with the correct application of subjugated equality, the hardest part of making her a part of his design was being careful not to fall within hers. In the end, even her tongue was painted by the legacy of him.  
  
 _It is expected that I will endeavor to bargain for my life. That my will to live is greater than that of my pride. I do not commit myself to wasted efforts and know that my voice however reasonable will fall upon deaf ears. By the time this passage is read, my decisions will be made quite clear. For Will Graham I leave a reminder. Simply because one possesses the qualities of the unfeeling, does not mean they are by definition without emotion. I have loved. I do love. But no love of mine is greater, than the love of my own wit._  
  
 _Sincerely,_

**Hannibal Lecter**


End file.
